


I Crack & Out I Pour

by milk_pie



Category: Clone High
Genre: Angst, Cleo and JFK are friends because I said himbo/bimbo solidarity, Coma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, JFK's dads being cute, M/M, Major Character Injury, Men Crying, Nightmares, Ponce "Poncey" de León Lives, Slow Burn, Underage Smoking, as slow as I can bare it, as well as other tags, fic is fully outlined already just a matter of proper writing, in the past and mild tho, kind of, more characters and relationships will be added as the fic grows, teen now for language but rating will change later on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:00:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27224635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milk_pie/pseuds/milk_pie
Summary: “In the, the dream, Ponce,” he sucked in a sharp breath. “Ponce died.”"I guess it was more of a nightmare really.”orPonce lives, and JFK makes sure everybody knows how he feels about them.
Relationships: Cleopatra & JFK (Clone High), Cleopatra & Joan of Arc (Clone High), Cleopatra & Ponce "Poncey" de León (Clone High), Cleopatra/Abraham Lincoln (Clone High), Gandhi (Clone High) & Ponce "Poncey" de León (Clone High), JFK/Ponce "Poncey" de León (Clone High)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 89





	1. Rude & Blessed Awakenings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jack from the discord](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Jack+from+the+discord).
  * Inspired by [Requiem For a Dreamsequence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17687579) by [Femalefonzie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Femalefonzie/pseuds/Femalefonzie). 



> There isn't enough Ponce/JFK content so here I am!  
> I don't know what it says about me that the only fandoms that have ever driven me to fic creation are The Witcher and Clone High.  
> Anyway please enjoy, the discord certainly did.

JFK woke with a start, sitting up rapidly and wincing when he felt a sharp tug on his wrist.

“Hey, be careful, Jackie, you’ll pull out the IV,” the ghost next to him chastised. 

JFK froze in place, breath coming in quick, jagged motions. Again? Did he really have to acknowledge that cursed-ass specter again? 

“Jack? Hey, c’mon buddy slow down a little everything’s okay.” No. No, absolutely not, fuck this. JFK squeezed his eyes shut against the feeling of tears welling up, and gritted his teeth so hard it hurt. A hand on his arm made him jump, the ghost had never touched him before, he must really be losing it now. 

The hand rubbed up and down soothingly. JFK felt tears roll down his cheeks as he hunched over. “Jack, look at me, everything’s okay, I promise.”

JFK forced himself to look up, ready to take in the phantasmal and bloodied visage of his late best friend, maybe if he acknowledged it he could get it to leave quicker. Ponce looked exhausted, and he had his own tears sparkling in the corners of his eyes, but he was… solid? He was pink cheeks and a worn leather jacket and no blood or trash, he was alive. 

“Ponce?!” JFK gasped, surging forward to crash into his very real and not at all transparent friend. 

“Jack!” Ponce half laughed, half sobbed, as he wrapped JFK up in a bear hug. “Be careful, bud, you’re still pretty banged up.” 

“Poncie, wha--” he sucked in a sharp breath as he pulled away, why did his ribs ache so much?

“You fell through the roof while high on raisins,” Ponce told him plainly. JFK’s brows shot up in shock, and suddenly tattered memories came flooding back. Snippets of rolling in the mud, driving wildly trying to chase the moon, crashing into the PTA meeting-- oh, God, his  _ dads _ . They were probably worried sick and angry to boot. Ponce looked very sympathetic as he went back to soothingly running his hand up and down JFK’s good arm. “You were out for about a week, I only got back from visiting my aunts a few days ago and when I heard what happened--” he cut himself off with a small choked sound as he turned his head to sniffle.

“Poncie, I, er, I’m so sorry I worried you,” JFK ducked his head as shame burned at his face and tears continued to roll down his cheeks. Ponce looked back over at his friend, startled by JFK’s genuine display of emotion. 

“Hey, it’s alright Jackie-boy, I’m just happy you’re okay,” he tried to put on as comforting a smile as he could muster. JFK looked up at the shorter boy with big watery eyes, and promptly burst into tears, collapsing against Ponce and holding him as tightly as he could with his good arm. “Jack?” Ponce asked, a little startled. “I said everything’s alright, honestly.”

“I just, I thought, er, uh,” JFK stuttered for a moment, seemingly unable to compose himself. “Hold me,” he choked, pressing his tears into Ponce’s shoulder.

Ponce swallowed hard, and carefully wrapped his arms around JFK’s shoulders. He was certainly confused, but considering JFK had been in a coma following a physically detrimental accident, he supposed it wasn’t the oddest reaction. Just then, the door to JFK’s hospital room opened, and Wally and Carl entered. 

“You’re awake!” Wally cried, rushing over to the bedside and beginning a fretful assessment of his son. JFK startled at their entrance, but was quick to reach out to his father, falling into a hug and sniffling loudly.

“Dads! I’m so sorry, I, er, uh, I won’t smoke raisins ever again!” he hiccuped into Wally’s shoulder.

“Oh, baby, don’t worry about that right now,” Wally tisked, patting JFK comfortingly on the back.

“We’re just happy you’re okay, son,” Carl offered gruffly, clearly containing his own emotion. The larger man walked over to stand beside Ponce, placing a bag of fast food on the bedside table. “We thought we’d bring you something to eat and give you a break if you’re up to it,” Carl told him not unkindly. Ponce looked a little startled, shaken from his own train of thought.

“Oh, thank you, sir,” he smoothed back his hair and stood. “Maybe that’s for the best right now, I’m sure you two want to spend some time with him.” Ponce accepted the paper bag with a gracious nod and slipped out of the room. “I’ll see you in a bit, Jackie,” he offered as loud as he dared, and did not notice the way JFK’s eyes followed him as he exited to the hallway.

Once in the hall, Ponce found himself staring blankly at the opposite wall for an uncertain amount of time, completely lost in his own head. Why was Jack acting so odd when he first woke up? Why didn’t he want to look at Ponce? What had he been trying to tell him before his dads came in? Someone snapped their fingers in front of his face.

“Helloooo?” Cleo drew the word out comically. “Anyone home?”

“Oh, Cleo,” Ponce startled. “You’re here to visit Jack again?” he guessed. She’d been half asleep by JFK’s hospital bed when Ponce had first rushed in, not many hours after his return to town. Ponce had been a little surprised to see her, if he was being honest, as he’d always assumed there wasn’t much of an actual connection on Cleo’s side of her and JFK’s relationship. He’d even been a little offended at first, considering he’d had to comfort JFK through their breakup as his best friend got his heart broken for quite possibly the first time ever.

However, after a few days of relieving each other and JFK’s dads of shifts on a rotating “stay by Jackie’s side” schedule, the animosity Ponce had towards Cleo had dissipated. 

“Of course I am,” she tutted, then softer, “how is he?” 

“He’s actually just woken up--” Cleo immediately made a b-line for the door. “But!” Ponce caught her arm. “His dads are in with him right now.” Ponce tried to sound as sympathetic as possible. 

Cleo deflated a little. “Oh, well, that’s fair I guess.” She was clearly trying not to pout. “How did he seem?” she asked suddenly.

“Honestly?” Ponce started, glancing back towards the door. “A bit shaken up.”

“That’s not too surprising,” Cleo mused, fidgeting with the ends of her hair. She was clearly going for nonchalant but Ponce could see the worry in her eyes. He held up the bag of fast food he’d almost forgotten about at that point. 

“Wanna share?” he asked. Cleo huffed, amused, and sat with him in a couple of chairs not too far from JFK’s room as they picked at cold fries. 

Not long later the door to JFK’s room opened, and Wally and Carl exited, looking a little perplexed. Ponce caught their eyes with a wave as him and Cleo stood. 

“Oh, Cleo sweetheart,” Wally started. “John was just asking about you actually, he asked us to find you for him.” Cleo looked surprised.

“Really?” she asked a little breathless. Then, “well, of course he’d like to see me, who wouldn’t?” Her dazzling facade of unbothered and above-it-all came over her face, and she sauntered towards the door. She broke for a moment, looked back, “Thank you”, and slipped into the room.

Ponce felt his thoughts absolutely spiraling. Why would Jack ask for Cleo? After all he didn’t know she’d been waiting with him while he was unconscious. Did his dads say something? Did he have some coma dream about her?

“Hey, bud,” Carl startled him from his thoughts for the second time that day. “Why don’t you head home and get some rest? Visiting hours are almost over for the day anyhow.” Ponce looked for all the world like he wanted to argue. “Don’t worry, we’ll let you know if anything happens. You can’t be there for him if you can’t keep awake.” Ponce dutifully stifled a yawn, but wasn’t too proud to try and claim Carl was wrong.

“You make a fair point, sir,” he sighed, tugging awkwardly at the lapel of his jacket. 

“We’ll see you tomorrow, baby!” Wally called cheerfully as he waved while Ponce headed for the exit. He couldn’t help but smile, JFK’s dads had been ridiculously kind to him during the whole ordeal when they could’ve easily asked him to keep some distance. He should make them cookies or something, or get his dad to help him make them cookies, as they probably wouldn’t like burnt cookies. 

Ponce took in a deep breath of cold night air as he exited the hospital. This was fine, everything was fine. Jackie was awake and he didn’t have amnesia or internal bleeding or anything like that-- it had to be fine! Ponce shook his head and pulled out a pack of cigarettes as he made his way towards where his motorcycle was parked. Jackie would heal up and be back to school soon enough and everything would go back to normal. He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, sighing with relief at the burn in his throat. 

He was sure everything would go back to normal.

Cleo entered JFk’s room tentatively. She had absolutely no idea why he would ask for her, but she had to admit it made her a little excited. After he’d been taken to the hospital and announced to be in a coma she found herself ridiculously distraught. It wasn’t like she was still pining after him, that had been a short lived dalliance that quickly bored her, but JFK still held a… soft spot in her heart. He had been fun and actually very sweet to her. He deserved someone being kind back, to see that it was okay to be vulnerable like that.

“Cleo!” JFK looked relieved to see her and Cleo couldn’t help the smile that lit up her face. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay, JFK,” she insisted genuinely, leaning into the hug he offered her.

“Look, Cleo, this, er, uh, is gonna sound weird, but I, er, need to thank you,” JFK insisted, looking up at her with guarded eyes.

“For what?” she asked, perplexed.

“Well,” the boy fidgeted with the blankets piled in his lap. “See, while I was, er, knocked out, I had a dream.” Cleo tentatively sat down in a chair by the bedside, nodding encouragingly. “I, er, uh, I guess it was more of a nightmare really.” he mumbled, eyes tracing along the edges of the blankets, refusing to look up and meet Cleo’s gaze. She reached out and took his good hand to clasp between her palms in a soothing gesture. He seemed to settle a little at this and took a deep breath to continue. “In the, the dream, Ponce,” he sucked in a sharp breath. “Ponce died.” Hot tears glittered on his cheeks and Cleo steadfastly rubbed her thumb back and forth over his knuckles in an effort to comfort. This was clearly difficult for JFK. “Anyway,” he sniffled. “You were, uh, one of the only people to be nice to me, in the dream I mean,” the boy finally looked up at her. “So, thanks, for that.”

“That must have been really miserable,” Cleo offered, breaking the momentary silence that followed JFK’s confession. 

“It really was,” his voice wavered and squeaked a little at the end.

“I’m happy I was a comfort for you, in the dream,” she continued. JFK nodded, sniffled a bit more. Cleo bit her lip, should she tell him she was here for him in real life too? It somehow seemed selfish in the moment. “If it helps,” she started. “Ponce waited by your side every chance he got.” Now she was talking up Ponce? What was wrong with her?

“That is nice,” JFK mumbled, craning his neck to rub one wet cheek on his shoulder. Cleo pulled her hands away to offer the boy a box of tissue sitting on the side table. He awkwardly accepted, scrubbing his face clean and crumpling the tissue in his fist as it thumped back down against the sheets. 

“Maybe you should tell Ponce about your dream,” Cleo offered after another beat of silence. 

“I, uh, don’t want to stress him out anymore,” JFK hiccuped.

“I think he’d appreciate you sharing,” Cleo soothed, reaching a hand out to smooth JFK’s hair back off of his forehead. “And it might make you feel better about the whole thing.”

“Thanks, Cleo,” JFK sighed, leaning back into the pillows wearily. “For being here in real life too.” His eyes were drooping even more than normal.

“Oh, JFK, don’t mention it,” she sighed, standing and leaning to press a chaste kiss to his forehead. 

The exhausted boy was almost completely out when she reached the door. Cleo granted herself one last glance back at her friend.  _ I should make sure Ponce talks to him tomorrow. _ She mused, feeling a sudden painful rush of relief at the sight of JFK snoring gently into the pillows, banged up but alive and well nonetheless. 

JFK’s sleep was, blessedly, dreamless.


	2. The Start Of Something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this chapter a week late? Yes.  
> In my defense, seasonal depression is setting in, and November 5th gave me absolute WHIPLASH.
> 
> Sorry for the delay, I'm getting back in the groove though, and intend to stay on schedule moving forward. Considering my school semester ends soon I think I'll have a much better time of it.
> 
> TW for lots of description of smoking, I simply project onto Ponce and this of course leads to cigarettes unfortunately.
> 
> And thank you all for the response to the first chapter!! Every single comment lights up my whole day and your kudos and bookmarks mean the world to me!!!

JFK blinked awake, slow and groggy. He could... see his own reflection? The teen jolted upright then, staring dumbfounded at the mirror he’d rigged above his bed freshman year. Hadn’t he been in the hospital for the last few days? How did he get home? 

“Jackie,” a voice called, sounding far away and shaky. JFK whipped his head around and found his eyes locked on the ghostly visage of a ragged and bloody Ponce. 

“No,” he choked, fumbling back to the far side of his bed. The ghost reached out towards him with refuse bound hands.

“Jackie-boy, it’s me,” ghost-Ponce promised, the plastic bag over his head crinkling as he spoke. 

JFK squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the heels of his hands against them vigorously enough to see spots against the backs of his eyelids. “Don’t do this to me, Poncie.” His breathing became ragged. “You, you were alive, it was a dream.” Hot tears slipped out from where his hands were trying to hold them back. “Please, I can’t, I can’t--”

“Jack,” the visage sounded much closer then, and suddenly cold hands were yanking JFK’s hands away from his eyes. JFK kept his eyes squeezed shut and turned his head away, trying and failing to pull his hands out of the ghost’s grip. 

“No. _No!”_

JFK shot up in his hospital bed, _screaming._ The IV in his good arm was painfully pulled out as he thrashed in a panic, his blankets tangling in his legs as nurses rushed in and attempted to soothe him. 

“Mr. Kennedy, _Mr. Kennedy!_ Please calm down!”

JFK froze up, panting heavily as his swirling vision cleared a little to focus on the pattern of his hospital gown that was now bunched in his lap. He turned to find a nurse attempting to speak to him. The ringing in his ears was only just starting to come down. 

“Is this, uh, real?” he rasped. He suddenly felt exhausted. The nurse did her best to not look startled by the question. 

“Yes, John, you were having a nightmare,” she assured him, her voice was heavy with sympathy. A second nurse on the opposite side of the bed caught his attention.

“John? John, I’m going to put your IV back in, okay?” JFK nodded absently, turning to watch the second nurse carefully slip the IV back into his arm. 

“Would you like us to call anyone for you?” asked the first nurse, causing JFK to turn away from watching the second nurse re-tape the IV tube against his skin. 

“Er, uh, no, no I’m okay now,” he stuttered, leaning back into the pillows and staring absently at a spot on the far wall, not really seeing. 

“Alright, you just press the call button if you need someone, okay honey?”

JFK was no longer sure which nurse was speaking anymore, and he was only vaguely aware of himself nodding. The two nurses soon left after double checking his IV and vitals, as well as fixing his blankets and pulling them up to his chest. 

JFK tried to steady his shaky breathing. This was real, he was awake now, he knew that. However, he couldn’t shake off the fear. After all, in the dreams, the _nightmares_ , it had all seemed real, and it wasn’t until he was actually awake that he could recognize the feeling of _this is all just in my mind_. Would the nightmares keep coming? Was he going to have to live like this indefinitely? He wasn’t sure he could handle that.

The teen felt tears welling up and he sniffled angrily as he rubbed the wet away from his eyes. He was so _sick_ of crying lately. It was over, tonight was meant to be his last day at the hospital anyway and once he was home he was sure he would be able to put this whole miserable experience behind him. Ponce was _alive_ . He’d seen it with his own two eyes, many times, in fact, as Ponce had made sure to keep visiting him every day, especially since JFK had woken up. Ponce was _fine_ and JFK was _fine_ and everything was going to be totally _fine._

He let his eyes slip shut, unsure if he could go back to sleep but content to drift until morning. He couldn’t wait to never think about any of this ever again.

Ponce de Leon was, to put it plainly, a little bit pissed off. The first day he’d gone back to school after his return to town he’d been appalled to find nobody making any mention of JFK. He figured maybe no one knew the true extent of his friend’s injury, but it turned out they simply didn’t care very much.

“JFK? Oh, yeah, I heard he was in a coma!” Marie Curie had _giggled_. “That’s what smoking too many raisins will get you, I suppose.” She hadn’t sounded even a little concerned, and Ponce had practically seen red as he stomped away from their neighboring lockers. First period was no better. The teacher made no mention of JFK’s absence, and some whispering with Jesús Cristo and Paul Revere in the back row revealed little mention of JFK had been made since the first announcement of his hospitalization some days prior.

“And you guys aren’t worried about him?” Ponce had tried not to sound too accusatory. 

“Well,” Revere had started, “Not really? He is JFK, after all, he gets himself into this kind of stuff quite frequently.” Jesús had nodded along sagely in agreement, and Ponce resided himself to silently fuming for the rest of class.

At lunch he expected to find Cleopatra just as melancholy as himself, but instead she was sitting with Abe, Julius, and Catherine, all talking animatedly and laughing boisterously around her. To be fair, Cleo herself was much more subdued than normal, but Ponce couldn’t bring himself to sit with them, resigning to eat by himself at the end of an empty table. 

He had startled as Gandhi slid into the chair across from him. 

“Ponce de Leon! Glad to see you’re back in town, broski,” Gandhi grinned as he’d settled his tray on the table.

Ponce raised a brow. “Uh, thanks,” he offered dryly, turning back to his own food. 

“Um, actually,” Gandhi started, and he’d sounded just nervous enough for Ponce to glance up. “Have you visited JFK at all?”

Ponce had almost dropped his fork. “Yeah.”

Gandhi nodded, mushing around the potatoes on his plate with a spoon in order to avoid making eye contact. “Good, you’re his best friend, so I figured you would have.” The two were silent for a moment, both staring down at their separate trays. “How is he?” It had been sudden and unexpected.

“He’s,” Ponce struggled for words. “He’s still unconscious, but the doctors say he should be okay once he wakes up. Whenever that is.” Ponce risked a glance upward. Gandhi had been nodding, still mushing his food around his tray with no real direction.

“Glad to hear it,” the shorter teen had offered with a false tone of cheer. Gandhi stood rapidly then, taking his tray with him as he’d moved to vanish amongst the lunch crowd. “See you later, Ponce.”

Ponce watched him go dumbfounded. _Well_ , he had reasoned to himself, _at least someone else seems to care about JFK._

Gandhi hadn’t spoken with Ponce much after that. Vague greetings as they passed each other in the hallway was all. Ponce was perplexed, but also much too absorbed in worrying about JFK to think much on it. How could no one else care about this as much as him? JFK was an icon, a community sweetheart! He was always the center of gossip and attention and now he was bed ridden and injured and the only people who seemed to really care were Ponce and Cleo! It was ridiculous and infuriating. Some friends JFK had, when he really needed them they were all just living their lives as normal, they didn’t even seem affected by his absence. JFK deserved better than that.

On JFK’s last day in the hospital, Ponce found himself so jittery and anxious he could barely stand it. By the second half of the day he’d accepted he was going to be useless in class and had instead tucked himself between the dumpsters and janitor’s entrance behind the main school building. He was halfway through his last pack of cigarettes, too on edge to care about the fact that if he finished them now he wouldn’t have anymore until next week, when the crunch of gravel under shoes caused him to spin around, current cigarette held behind his back. 

“Ponce?” Gandhi’s voice rang out cautiously. 

“Gandhi?” Ponce huffed irritated, holding his cigarette back up to take a dramatic draw. “What do you want?” he snapped, smoke curling from the corners of his mouth and streaming out his nose as he exhaled sharply. 

“I saw you leave half way through lunch and you looked pretty miserable, so, I decided to make sure you were okay.” He sounded sincere, and looked nervous as he stood in front of the taller boy, casting a shadow over Ponce as he moved to slump back against the brick wall behind him. 

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” Ponce challenged, stomping out his finished cigarette and immediately pulling out and starting another one. It took a couple flicks of his lighter to get it going properly. Damn, he’d need to buy a new one soon. 

“Well,” Gandhi rubbed the back of his neck in an anxious gesture. “JFK--”

“Why do you care about him anyway?” Ponce snapped. He met Gandhi’s eyes, challenging, while his cigarette dangled from his lip. He was not in any kind of mood for this. 

“I--” Gandhi looked taken aback. “He’s a good person, mostly,” the shorter boy admitted, crossing his arms defensively. Ponce remained still. “He can be an asshole sometimes, especially to people like me, who aren’t exactly _cool_ or whatever.” Gandhi averted his gaze then, voice softening. “But, after me and him hung out for a bit in his recording studio, well, he softened up.” Gandhi met Ponce’s eyes again. “He stopped acting so much like how he thought he should, and just acted like himself, y’know?”

Ponce took in another deep breath of smoke before pulling his cigarette away from his mouth. “I do know,” he sighed, smoke catching between them in the sunlight. “He tries to _be_ John F. Kennedy with everyone else, but he’s just Jack to me.” Ponce tilted his head out of Gandhi’s shadow to let the sun hit his eyes. “He puts on this face, but the real him is much better than anything he pretends to be.” Ponce smiled then, his annoyance from before bleeding away. He turned back to Gandhi, who had his arms crossed anxiously over his chest while one hand fidgeted with a loose thread on his shirt sleeve. “He’s getting out of the hospital today, I can’t go see him until the school day is out, but I can’t think about anything else, so I’ve just been trying to distract myself.” He flicked his cigarette then to ash it, and brought the burn back to his mouth. 

“You care about him a lot, huh?” Gandhi asked cautiously.

Ponce nodded, watching more smoke curl away into the sky. 

“That’s good, I think JFK needs more people to actually care about him, and not the face he puts on.” Gandhi moved to join Ponce against the wall. The taller boy offered the shorter his cigarette, but Gandhi kindly waved him off. Ponce took in another lungful of smoke.

“I’m glad someone else thinks so too.”

“No, Cleo, you’re spending way too much time with him lately, it’s ridiculous!” Abe shouted as he angrily slammed his locker shut and spun around to face his girlfriend. Cleopatra was pinching the bridge of her nose and trying her best to breathe evenly. 

“He’s broken multiple bones, Abe, he was _in a coma!_ You can’t see why I’d want to check up on him?” she demanded haughtily, placing a hand on her hip and meeting Abe’s fiery glare. 

“He’s your _ex_ boyfriend you know! _Ex!_ You don’t have to go see him every single day,” Abe continued to grouch, crossing his arms defiantly. Their shouting match had started to draw a crowd. 

“He’s still my friend,” Cleo snapped. “And he’s going home today, so of course I’m going to go see him!” 

“If you go see him again you can kiss your sweet Abe lovin’ goodbye!” Abe declared dramatically. Cleo looked shocked then, and more than a little hurt.

“Abe, please!” She reached out to grab his shoulder but the much taller boy easily moved to avoid her. 

“You’d better consider what you’re doing,” Abe huffed, shouldering his backpack and marching away down the hall. 

With the fight seemingly over, the small crowd that had formed dissipated, leaving Cleo slumped against the lockers looking distraught. Joan of Arc stood some paces away, seemingly frozen with one hand on the door of her own locker and her eyes fixated on Cleopatra. 

Normally a fight between Cleo and Abe would have Joan jumping for joy, but Cleo just looked so-- _broken._ She wasn’t wrong either, JFK, while an absolute meathead, _had_ been severely injured, and they clearly used to mean a lot to each other, it was fair of Cleo to be worried. Plus, a typical fight between Abe and Cleo usually stemmed from some petty thing _Cleo_ had done but this wasn’t even petty, Abe was just being _mean._

“He, doesn’t really mean it, you know?” Joan was unsure how she’d walked from her locker to Cleo’s side without consciously thinking to move there but here she was, already talking. Cleo startled from her weeping to glare up at Joan. 

“Here to gloat?” Cleo sneered, standing up properly so she could look down her nose at the shorter girl. Ah, Joan always forgot Cleo was taller than her, and those wedged sandals didn’t help.

“I’m not gloating!” Joan snapped, then noted Cleo’s attempts to subtly wipe away the wet on her cheeks. She sighed, and gentled her voice. “I’m trying to tell you, Abe just gets worked up easily is all, just give him some time.” She tried to appear as friendly and sincere as possible, which was a little difficult, considering it _was_ Cleopatra she was trying to comfort. God, what was she doing this for again?

“Do you think?” Cleo suddenly looked soft and unsure, and she brought a hand up to fidget with the ends of her hair, dark eyes trailing after the direction Abe had left in. Her eyelashes were sticking to each other from the tears she’d been wiping away. Joan smiled gently.

“Absolutely, just give him a little time, he’ll come around.”

Cleo let out a breath, and collected her own bag to sling over her shoulder. “Thank you, Joan.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Toss a comment to your writer! (and a prompt [@thriftstoreboy](https://thriftstoreboy.tumblr.com/) on tumblr)  
> I know this didn't have a lot of that Ponce/JFK action we all crave but I've got many things planned and they need build up! Next chapter will involve more of the good good boys interacting I promise :+))
> 
> I really hope y'all are still liking this, I'm pretty pleased with how it's going so far!

**Author's Note:**

> Toss a comment to your writer! (and a prompt [@thriftstoreboy](https://thriftstoreboy.tumblr.com/) on tumblr)  
> I hope y'all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.  
> The plan is minimum one new chapter every week so check back then!  
> Also title from [Mr Loverman by Ricky Montgomery](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e_ouDSKtwK8)  
> <3


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